26. Chapter 25
26
Chapter 25
Julen
A wall of clouds blocked the moon, and the streets of Lapistra were darker than Julen had ever seen. He felt uneasy and briskly walked through the cobblestone streets back to the castle. His instructions were to enter the castle conspicuously from the main hall and be noticed by the servants. Souzie wanted as many people as possible to witness his entrance so nobody would suspect him of being a player in this plan.
Julen entered, making far more noise than he usually would. Several servants milled about the castle, finishing last-minute tasks. They bowed as Julen passed. Good. Let them all see me.
Soon, the castle would be asleep, and he’d send the signal out his window. Souzie and Dacias would arrive through the back path, leading from the brush along the stables where Latima would be waiting. Souzie had already snuck in once with the help of the servant, Latima, and she seemed confident that Latima could be trusted.
The castle posted only one guardian at the back, so Julen was optimistic he’d either not notice Souzie and Dacias or be sleeping. The most talented guardians were posted at the front or closer to Haligran.
Julen moved at his leisure, grabbing a bite from the kitchen. He was known for skipping dinner and having something light at a later hour, and he wanted things to seem routine.
Next, he strolled about the royal receiving room to observe the new installation, an awful painting of Haligran slitting the throat of a black panther —clearly a jab at Rugiria—and finally made his way to his bedchamber. He acted as normal as possible, conversing with the servants along the way.
Once in his room, Julen entered the lavatory and splashed his face with cool water. Looking at himself in the mirror, he saw the tension in his face. Hopefully, he hadn’t looked like that in front of the servants. Julen dried his face with a towelette and strode to his bed, laying himself down with his feet dangling over the foot of it. He closed his eyes and inhaled when he heard a terrible shrieking.
Julen bolted up. Mother? He quickly rose from the bed and exited his chamber. He stood in the hall and listened. He heard the cry again, coupled with a crashing sound like a mirror toppling over. He knew it was coming from his parents’ private quarters and sprinted down the hall to intervene.
Julen tried to open the door. Locked. He could hear his mother’s screaming intensify. His father had also begun shouting, and Julen heard the crisp sound of skin slapping against skin, followed by the crashing of furniture. His father never struck his mother. He had always directed his violence toward Julen, but there was no mistaking what was happening behind that locked door. Julen went into action, backing up several feet, bracing himself, and slamming into the doors with the weight of his entire body. He was unsuccessful, but there was movement, so he backed up and collided with the doors again. They wouldn’t open. He planted his feet, steadied his gaze, and sent a cannonball of wind through the center of the double doors. How did I do that?
The doors flew open, bits of wood splintering at the frame, and he bolted into the room. His mother, seeing her son, ran to him, screaming his name, but his father caught up to her and pushed her from behind, hurtling her into Julen. She slammed into him, and together they crashed to the ground.
Lauta screamed at Julen. “One of those whores is pregnant. He wants me to raise it like it’s my own. I told him I won’t. I won’t!”
Julen froze in shock. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing and seeing.
Haligran screamed at his wife, “You will do what I tell you because that is your duty as my wife!” He gestured to Julen. “You made me a failure. I need a child worthy of the throne.”
Lauta jumped to her feet and began beating her fists against Haligran. “I won’t raise some whore’s bastard! I won’t!” Haligran backhanded Lauta across the face, catapulting her into a nearby desk.
Julen lay on the ground in shock. His mother raised her upper half off the ground, blood trickling from her nose.
The look of terror in her eyes sent Julen hurtling back in time. A hundred different moments of agony at the hand of his father flashed in his mind—a cacophony of castigations, beatings, sobs, slamming doors, insults, and cruel laughter. It wasn’t like the showcase when they came and left before he could latch on. These visions consumed him, piling upon each other. As his sight came back, he found himself in the present day, still staring at his mother’s anguished face. Julen released a guttural wail.
Then, it all went blank.
His mind wasn’t his own anymore. He saw red, his head throbbing. His veins vibrated, and he whipped his trembling arms to the side.
The movement shattered the windows, and a mighty current rushed into the room, tossing its contents like leaves.
The current gathered beneath him, lifting him into the air. It enveloped him up to the waist, forming a shield. Never had anyone in Lapistra done something like this with wind manipulation. Not even Haligran had ever done something like this, but Julen wasn’t conscious of his incredible power. He couldn’t see the dumbfounded faces of his parents as he rose into the air. He wasn’t truly there anymore; he felt no love, no empathy, no remorse—only rage.
Unable to control himself, Julen unleashed the full force of his power. With his right hand, he shot boulders at his father, slamming them into the walls and forming splintered dents as they narrowly missed Haligran, who darted around the room.
His left hand conjured a very thin cyclone, which he wielded like a whip. He lashed every direction: slicing curtains in half, destroying upholstery, and shattering glass upon contact.
Julen threw his magic about the room in wild, uncontrolled bursts. Anything he could wield at his father, he did. He wanted to end this man. Obliterate him. Wipe him clean off the face of the planet. Julen unleashed a lifetime of pent-up rage, and there was no stopping it.
One of the boulders struck Haligran, tossing him across the room. Julen formed the wind into a barrier and pushed it like a moving wall aimed at crushing Haligran, who saved himself by seeking cover behind a toppled wardrobe.
Haligran quickly regained his footing and ran toward the door to the servant’s passage. Julen slammed another wardrobe against the door, blocking his escape.
Julen could hear the screams of many—not just his mother—but consciously; he felt detached, lost in his power.
His mother called to him, begging him to stop. Julen summoned a cyclone that pushed her into a closet; he then slammed a cabinet against the door, trapping her inside.
Haligran wielded his wind, but he couldn’t overpower his son. Julen took the manifested cyclone and lassoed his father, tightening it to drag Haligran closer. He lifted his father off the ground, bringing him face-to-face with Julen.
“You will never hurt us again, you pathetic excuse for a man.” Julen lifted his other hand and summoned more wind. It came rushing in from outside, forming a dark storm above him. Haligran closed his eyes, bracing himself for what was to come. Julen clenched his fist; this would be his final blow. The storm would devour Haligran, tossing his body about like a rag doll, and Julen would be rid of this disgusting man forever.
A piercing pain shot through Julen’s right side, and he looked over his shoulder and saw where an arrow had entered him. He was struck with another, hitting the arm that steadied the tempest above. The storm vanished, and the pain brought Julen back to reality, dissipating the wind that carried him, sending him plummeting.
Julen fell to the floor, landing on his stomach in a heap; pain pierced through his limbs, and he thought he would have passed out from the impact alone, but he stayed conscious long enough to see his father inch towards him. Julen averted his gaze as his father kicked his head, sending Julen into blackness.